Tristan 3: The Magic Potion

Tristan was sent to Ireland to heal, all the way across the sea he clutched his harp. When he arrived at the Irish court he was taken before the queen.
          ‘Who do we have here?’ she said curtly.
          ‘I am Tristan of Lyonesse,’ Tristan said weaky.
           ‘Play me your harp,’ said the queen and she and the princess Isolde listened.
           ‘We must first clean the wound,’ said the beautiful princess of Ireland as she knelt for the first time by Tristan’s side.
            As Isolde took out the shard from the wound, the queen gasped in surprise. For it was the missing piece of her brother’s sword, sent back to her from Cornwall. Nevertheless, the queen let her daughter set to and heal the young man. What fault was it of his? Her brother had been close to her heart but was arrogant and selfish.
         ‘The sword was poisoned,’ whispered Isolde, 'the Cornish knight is gravely ill.'
            It took many weeks for Tristan to recover under the healing hand of the princess Isolde and the watchful eye of her mother. Music was played for him day and night and the queen called the greatest poets and storytellers of Ireland to heal him with their words. As his health returned, Tristan couldn’t believe such a beautiful princess was sitting by his side, singing along to the harpers of the court. If only she were his, he thought. Alas, he was but a young knight, laid up with poison in his veins.
          Now, Isolde was coming of age and her father had organized a grand tournament to win her hand.
          ‘I will fight for her!’ said Tristan, from his bed by the fire.
           'Excuse me?’ said the king. ‘A sick young knight with no parentage will not seek my daughter’s hand.’
          ‘I am Tristan de Lyonesse  my father was King of Lyonesse.’
          ‘And your lands are sunk are they not, taken by the sea?’
          ‘A high tide,’ said Tristan sadly.
          ‘I have had word from your uncle, King Mark. He seeks the hand of my dear daughter, Princess Isolde. Perhaps you will fight for him?’ he said with a chuckle.
          But Tristan was not laughing as he put on his armour and joined the other knights circling for the joust. His face grew grim when he won every clink of his sword and knew he would have to take Isolde to King Mark.

The queen felt gravely sorry for her daughter, sailing to Cornwall to marry a middle-aged king she had never met. She used all her powers to mix up a potion to make her daughter’s life easier. Giving the love potion to her daughter’s lady in waiting, she said,
            ‘Do not let Isolde drink this until her wedding night and ensure she shares it with King Mark.’
           With that the boat was brought to the harbour and Tristan took his lady’s hand as she climbed aboard. The lady in waiting followed them and they were away across the waters to Cornwall.
            That night the sea was rough and as Tristan and Isolde sat together she sang as he played the harp, trying to ward off the fear they felt at the jousting waves. ‘I am so thirsty,’ said Isolde. ‘What is it my mother gave me? Give it to me,’ she implored her lady in waiting.
         Now the lady in waiting had never disobeyed the queen before but nor had she disobeyed her mistress. She took the golden flask and gave it to Isolde.
         ‘We shall share it, Tristan,’ laughed Isolde.
         Tristan and Isolde drank together the strongest love potion ever made and fell deeply in love for the rest of their days.